Desiderium
by smacky30
Summary: Hotch and Jessica find comfort with each other in the wake of Haley's death.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Many thanks to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for all their help!

Oh that it were possible,

After long grief and pain.

To find the arms of my true love,

Around me once again.

-Lord Alfred Tennyson

"Is he asleep?" Jessica's voice is quiet, her golden hair the single spot of light in an otherwise dark room. The television is on, but the volume is muted, the images performing a silent dance he can't quite comprehend, colors splashing across the walls in ever-changing patterns.

Catching sight of the extra glass of wine on the coffee table, Hotch gives her a tired smile. "Yeah. In my bed."

Chuckling, she takes a sip from her glass. "You're gonna have to stop that eventually. But not right now."

"No, not right now." Hotch drops onto the couch and picks up his glass. "Thanks," he raises it in a half-hearted toast before taking a long drink.

"So, what do you think about my offer from before?" She tucks her hair behind one ear in a gesture that reminds him so much of Haley his heart actually aches.

"I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you. You know how unpredictable the travel can be." He scrubs a hand over his mouth, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it in a slow steady stream. "But it's more than a job to me, Jess. It's who I am."

"I know, Aaron." She reaches over and lays a hand on his arm. "I know Disc_you_."

Nestling his wine glass between his thighs, Hotch covers her hand with his. "Thank you."

She slides her hand away from his, only to take his free hand in hers. Linking their fingers together, she gives his hand a firm squeeze. "You don't have to thank me. I really want to do this."

They sit together for a while, not talking, sipping wine with their hands entwined. The alcohol and the stress and the grief are all combining to make him sleepy, and Hotch can feel his eyelids drooping, slipping closed despite his best efforts to stay awake.

He's not sure what time it is when he wakes up. For a second, he's completely disoriented. Then he realizes he's in his apartment, but there's a warm body nestled against his side and the smell of soft floral perfume surrounding him, and for a moment he forgets Haley is gone. Tightening his arm, he pulls her close and presses a kiss to her hair.

"Mmmmmm," she snuggles a little closer. "Aaron?"

That's not Haley's voice. He would know her voice anywhere. Still, it's familiar. Then it comes back to him and he realizes it's Jessica who's pressed against him. Angling his head, he looks down into her sleep heavy eyes. She blinks, the dark sweep of her lashes against her cheek fascinating him. When her eyes open, there's a question there. One he doesn't know how to answer.

"I'm sorry," he tries to pull away. "I thought…just for a second…"

Her fingers cover his lips, silencing him. "Shhhhhh. I know. It's okay." Her smile is soft and sad and full of understanding. "I forget, too."

He feels it then, the burning pain behind his eyes, the hard, thick knot in his throat, the harsh ache around his heart. The first sob catches him by surprise, ripping through him and leaving him gasping for breath. With a strangled cry he covers his mouth, trying to mute the sounds he's making so that Jack doesn't hear him. Pushing against Jessica, he tries vainly to untangle himself from her. But her hand is on his cheek and she's rising and twisting and then she's straddling his thighs, her skirt settling down over the two of them. She wraps her arms around him, holding him tight.

"It's okay," she croons, her arms around his shoulders, her hands smoothing his hair.

He struggles for another moment or two before giving up and giving in and letting go. Then his arms are around her waist and his head is on her chest and he's weeping for everything he's lost over the past year, for everything Foyet took from him, for everything he _gave_ to Foyet.

"God, Jess, I miss her." He chokes the words out through the tears. "I loved her so much. Still love her."

"I know you do." She rocks him a little, the movement comforting. "She knew it, too."

"I'm so sorry." His throat is raw and the words hurt just as much physically as they do emotionally. "I could've stopped it. She didn't have to …"

"No," she soothes. "This wasn't your fault." Her body seems to absorb his pain, taking it from him because it's too much for him to bear.

They stay that way for a while, until his sobs taper off and his breathing evens out. He's not sure when he realizes just how warm and soft she is against him. All he does know is that she's there and she's alive. And he isn't sure if he's truly living, or if he's as hollowed out as he feels. Leaning back, Hotch gazes up at her, noting the silvery tracks of the tear stains on her cheeks and the tremble of her mouth. Then his hand is sliding up her back, cupping the back of her head and dragging her mouth down to his.

She hesitates for a split second, but then she's kissing him back. This isn't the sloppy, boyish kiss of his first time with Haley or the soft, teasing first kiss of his time with J.J. Instead, this is fierce. Tongues and teeth and lips clashing in a fight for survival. Their shared love for Haley, and their grief in the face of her death, drawing them together in a frantic battle to eradicate the empty space inside them both.

With a deep groan, Hotch slips his hand down over the curve of her ass and drags her closer. Her heat settles against his erection, and he's pretty sure he could lose it right then and there.

"Jess?" He lets his lips brush over her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. "I don't…This isn't…"

Sitting back, she cups his face in her hands. "I know. I know what this means to you _and_ to me."

"It feels wrong, and it feels right." He covers her hands with his. "I don't want to mislead you."

"Stop thinking so much." Her lips brush along the line of his jaw and she brings his hands down to cover her breasts. "Forget with me. Just for a little while."

Unconsciously, his thumbs stroke over her nipples and she shifts her hips against him. With a groan, he finds her mouth with his. Her kiss is hungry and he can taste the same desperation that sits in his chest like a lead weight.

Together they unbutton her shirt, their fingers fumbling with the tiny buttons. Hotch pushes it off her shoulders and runs his hands over the smooth skin of her chest, traces along her ribs, slides over her bra.

He wants to tell her she's beautiful, to woo her just a little and because she is. But that would make this about something other than a mutual need for comfort, so he says nothing. Instead, he listens to the change in her breathing when he nips along her collarbone, listens to the soft moans she makes when he mouths her nipples through the lace covering them. Flicking open the front catch on her bra, he cups her breasts in his hands, brushing the tips with his thumbs before bending down to draw one into his mouth. Her fingers dig into his scalp and she arches against him.

Pulling back, Jessica slides her hands under his shirt, her fingers cool and soft against his stomach, and he moans, breaking his silence. She pushes the material up until it is bunched around his chest and he lifts his arms so they can work it over his head. Then he's kissing her again, not stopping to think, just existing in the here and now.

There in the dark, he feels her hands on him; sliding over his shoulders and chest, gliding down his ribs to the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers hesitate when they bump over the first one. The scars. The marks left on his body by his time with Foyet. But those aren't the wounds he needs her to help heal. She hesitates, her eyes narrowing in confusion then going wide with understanding. She opens her mouth to speak, to ask the inevitable question, but he shakes his head.

"Don't." Hotch draws her hands away and back to the button on this pants. "Please." And even he's not sure what the please is for.

Jessica doesn't hesitate; if anything, she's more urgent than she was before. She pushes the button through its hole and slides his zipper down. Her hand pushes under the elastic of his boxers and wraps around him and Hotch bites down on the groan that rises in his throat.

"Get your pants off," she commands, biting at his lips and slowly stroking his cock with a firm grip.

She's up on her knees, giving him room, and he lifts his hips, wrestling the material down as far as he can. His cock springs free and her hands are on him again, and he's pushing up into her grasp and he can't think of anything except how fucking good it feels to be touched. Jessica's hands move, stroking him with a desperate urgency that's pushing him closer to the edge than he should be if he ever wants to be inside her.

"Wait," he gasps, wrapping his hand around hers.

She shakes her head, blonde curls flying around her face. "Please don't stop. I need…"

With his other hand, he touches her cheek, tucks her hair behind her ear. "It's too good." He kisses her, his teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Her forehead braced against his, Jessica breathes out a sigh of relief. Then he has both hands under her skirt, dragging her panties to the side. She's wet, so fucking wet, and he takes a second to drag his fingers along her slit just to hear her gasp. With Jessica holding his cock, Hotch holds the scrap of material out of the way. There's a little fumbling, but before either of them can really think, she's sinking down, taking him deep inside her. For just a second, his vision grays and his hearing dulls, and his entire universe is reduced to his cock and how it feels buried inside her.

"Huh," she lets out a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a grunt, and Hotch is pretty sure he knows just how she feels. Then her hands find his shoulders and his find her hips and they are moving together trying to find a rhythm.

He won't last long. He's too caught up in the moment, too aware of the way she feels, too aware of the way her muscles are working him as she rocks her hips back and forth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he should at least try to make it good for her, but he can't seem to remember how. Besides this isn't about Jessica, this is about forgetting that Haley is dead and that he should be and that tomorrow won't really change a fucking thing.

His hands find her waist, his thumbs stroking over the smooth plane of her stomach. Watching as she rises and falls, he closes his eyes and lets Haley's face fill his mind. She's there, stroking his cheek, whispering his name, digging her fingernails into his shoulders. Then he opens his eyes and she's gone and it's Jessica's breasts filling his hands, Jessica's eyes that are dark with need. Groaning, he leans forward and takes a nipple into his mouth, dragging his tongue over the tip. She pulls him close, her fingers in his hair, her lips brushing his temple, her hips pumping against him.

Her breath is harsh in his ear, a whimper accompanying every grind of her pelvis against his. Then she tugs his face up to hers and kisses him, wild and needy. Her breasts are soft against his chest and her fingers are clutching at his back and she bears down against him, moving her hips back and forth. Her thighs clench against his and the whimper becomes a long, low moan as the orgasm hits her. Her head falls back and she gives herself over to it, riding the waves of her pleasure. The feel of her muscles pulsing around him, the sound she makes is enough to send him tumbling over the edge after her. And if he calls out Haley's name in a ragged whisper, neither of them will mention it afterward.

For a long while, the only sound is that of their breathing. Then, with a sigh, Jessica slips off his lap, settling beside him on the sofa. The silence is thick and tense as they both rearrange their clothing. Finally, with a deeper sigh, she reaches over and takes his hand.

"I'm gonna head out." She gives him a tight smile. "You should probably try to get some sleep."

"You…" he swallows heavily and pulls his hand away from her grasp. "You don't have to leave. Why don't you take Jack's room?"

"Thanks." She stands and, with her back to him, wraps her arms around her waist. "This doesn't have to be awkward."

With a quiet curse, he rises and moves to stand behind her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he realizes she's shaking. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Looking at him over her shoulder, she says, "Don't beat yourself up, Aaron. Haley would understand." When he doesn't respond, she steps away from him and heads toward the bedroom. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Could you put a t-shirt on the bed for me?" She looks back and sees his nod. "Goodnight. I'll…uh…see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," he mumbles to her retreating back.


End file.
